


Loose Lips Sink Ships; or How Greenberg Got His Groove Back

by mynameisbloo



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-01
Updated: 2012-10-01
Packaged: 2017-11-15 10:51:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/526485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mynameisbloo/pseuds/mynameisbloo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greenberg doesn’t say much, but he’s a really good listener. And if that means he overhears a strange thing or two from his classmates every once in awhile - well, he knows how to keep his mouth shut.</p>
<p>(Spoiler alert: Greenberg never had any groove to begin with.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loose Lips Sink Ships; or How Greenberg Got His Groove Back

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Teen Wolf's fanfic contest. 
> 
> Congrats to the winner and honorable mentions!

Beacon Hills was a relatively quiet town, best known for its friendly residents, its love of lacrosse, and for the multiple grisly murders that had taken place there over the past year. 

“Fairy hedgehogs are not a joke, Scott! Not when there’s a swarm of them.”

It also happened to be full of lunatics.

Gunning for lead lunatic (on a high school level, at least) was one “Stiles” Stilinski, a kid so odd that calling him just _odd_ was doing a disservice to the word. Stiles was weird right down to the cellular level - heck, no one even knew his first name, or whether he even had one. Not that Greenberg was one to judge, of course – he’d been going by his last name for so long, most people’d probably forgotten the other. He even called himself Greenberg in his head.

Scott mumbled a reply as Greenberg shifted away from his teammates on the lacrosse bench, trying to focus on the practice game taking place on the field. Greenberg wasn’t interested in Stilinski’s rantings; he didn’t play whatever computer game he and Scott were discussing.

“I don’t care what he says. I’m not following the advice of an undead psycho werewolf with bad hair and worse jokes!” Stilinski hissed in his own (entirely audible) version of a whisper. He paused a moment before sniffing indignantly. “Also, he’s creepy.”

Greenberg took a deep breath, focusing in on the gameplay. Jackson currently had the ball – big surprise there, he pretty much _always_ had the ball when he was on the field. He watched as Jackson ran the entire length, dodging defenders’ attempts to body check him and blasting right through their picks. Jackson had always been skilled at lacrosse, but somehow he’d managed to improve exponentially over the summer. Greenberg wasn’t jealous, but... well. Whatever. Jackson powered his way past the defense, firing off a shot from several yards outside the crease. The goalie attempted a block, but the ball hit the back of net almost before Jackson had even finished his follow-through. 

“You can’t trust a zombie, Scott. One of these days, he’s going to snap and slaughter all of us. I mean, I don’t really care if he eats Jackson, but I’m kind of partial to the whole ‘living’ thing myself.”

Jackson’s head snapped around to face the bench, as if he had somehow heard the insult from half a field away. Greenberg couldn’t see his face, but he’d swear Jackson’s eyes were glowing. 

Huh.

His attention snapped back to Stilinski as the boy’s rant picked up steam. “I don’t know what’s wrong with Derek – okay, I do, the answer’s ‘ _werewolf with trust issues_ ’ and also ‘ _everything else_ ’ – but just because he has no other family left doesn’t mean it’s safe for him to trust Peter. He killed his niece, Scott. You know we’re next.” Stiles finished his exclamation with a violent gesture, flinging his arm in Greenberg’s direction and forcing him to duck out of the way.

“Stiles, just shut up before someone hears you,” Scott grumbled.

“Who’s going to hear me, Scott? We are _whispering_. Not everyone on the lacrosse team is a werewolf. No one’s even close enough to hear us.”

For a second Greenberg actually wondered whether he’d become invisible.

“Human and proud, Scott. Human and proud.”

Greenberg weighed the pros and cons of stuffing his fingers into his ears and humming.

“Stiles, Magneto would be ashamed of you.”

“Magneto never had to deal with a bunch of Teenage Mutant Ninja Werewolves. If he had, I’m sure he’d understand my position.”

Greenberg didn’t care what they were talking about; he wasn’t listening. Nope. No, thank you. He was out of this weird-ass town just as soon as he graduated – anywhere between two years from now and the end of never, depending on how many times Finstock was willing to fail him.

“Greenberg! Stop contemplating your own uselessness and get yourself in the goal. I need someone in there that people will really want to aim at.”

Well, that was just unnecessary.

* * *

Greenberg stood in line in the cafeteria, waiting patiently to buy the nauseating hot lunch of the day (Tuna Surprise, emphasis on the surprise). Jackson and Lydia stood in front of him, his arm thrown over her shoulder in a gesture typical of the alpha male claiming his territory.

“How was your weekend?” Lydia asked quietly, turning to Jackson and running a finger down the bridge of his nose.

Greenberg turned his eyes to a particularly fascinating stain on the wall, attempting the awkward _I can totally hear you but I’m not listening at all, no really_ stare required by polite society.

“It was fine,” Jackson murmured. “Well... not _fine_. It hurt, but it wasn’t awful.”

“Did anything happen?”

Greenberg tried really hard to see if he could turn his hearing off.

“Not much. I didn’t kill anyone, at least.” 

Nope. Not listening. Nope.

“I’m pretty sure I fought a raccoon. And ate it.”

Oh _god_.

Jackson snorted. “Seriously, I woke up covered in blood and fur. There were bits of meat in my teeth.”

Wow. Okay. Greenberg wasn’t really hungry, anyway.

* * *

Danny sidled up to Greenberg after practice, his eyes focused on Jackson, who was already leaving the building without his best friend.

“Something’s going on with Jackson, but he won’t tell me anything.”

Well, yeah. Apparently he was into consuming critters of the night, but that wasn’t any of Greenberg’s business.

“I don’t know if it has to do with him dyin-” He paused. “With his accident a few months ago, but he’s been different since then. I don’t know what to do.”

Greenberg felt bad, but he had zero interest in getting to the bottom of any problems. He watched as Danny shoved his lacrosse gear into his locker before straightening up with a determined look on his face.

“I’m gonna figure this out. And if something’s wrong, I’ll fix it. Jackson can’t just douchebag his way out of being my friend.”

Danny turned to Greenberg and smiled widely, clapping him on the back.

“Thanks, Greenberg. You’re a really good listener.”

Damn. Danny really was the nicest kid in school.

* * *

Greenberg glanced out the window of his classroom, distracted by movement in his peripheral vision. Across the field and in front of the Beacon Hills High sign there stood a figure all in black. He didn’t move, just stood there menacingly. Watching. Waiting.

Greenberg had seen that figure before. Months and months ago, when terrible things had been happening. He was like a harbinger of doom, that figure. Death himself, come to reign terror down upon the unsuspecting residents of Beacon Hills High Sch-

“I’m sorry, Greenberg, I thought you were here to learn Economics. Maybe you’d like to go out and play with the butterflies instead?”

Greenberg turned back to his notes at Finstock’s outburst, quickly scribbling down some facts about supply and demand. He could still see the figure lurking outside.

Seriously, did the school have no security?

* * *

Chemistry was definitely not Greenberg’s favorite subject. Not only was he sure that he’d eventually accidentally poison himself during an experiment, but he also sometimes wound up sitting near the Creepy Triplets, who dressed like an odd combination of a junior motorcycle gang and the characters from _Grease_. It certainly didn’t help that two of them – Boyd and Erica – had gone missing at one point, only to turn up several months later with no explanation.

“Did Derek say what we’re supposed to learn at practice today?” Isaac asked from his seat beside Greenberg, twisted around to talk to Boyd and Erica behind them.

Greenberg didn’t care. He was very invested in his notes about covalent bonds, thank you very much. Super invested. The invested-est.

Erica snorted. “Yeah. We’re supposed to practice hunting down and capturing those lucky pig things. I don’t know why we should bother. Stiles says they don’t even harm humans.”

Greenberg _really_ needed to get himself a set of earplugs.

Boyd chuckled. “Derek’s pretty territorial. I figure he doesn’t want to share his area with any other kind of creature, no matter how friendly.”

Greenberg wondered if there was a hotline for reporting cults.

* * *

He’d just wanted to take his dog to the park. That was all. But then Muffin had taken off for the treeline, and he’d been forced to follow her deeper into the woods, and here he was. Surrounded by... _things_.

The creatures – animals? – looked vaguely like miniature pigs covered in long white hair, but somehow just _off_. Wrong. Their red eyes glinted at Greenberg from where they huddled in groups, startled by Muffin’s appearance in their midst. He carefully leaned over to pick up his dog.

The responsible thing to do, of course, would be to call the police, or animal control, or... or...

Greenberg turned and walked away.

* * *

Home. Home. He just needed to get home with his dog, and then he’d never have to leave his house again. No one could make him. Nope. There were clauses for these situations, like, like the one that said if you were going crazy and weird things were happening, you’d never have to leave your room again. Yeah. It was in the Constitution, that one.

He and Muffin were so close to being completely safe, just a few blocks from home. Which, of course, was why he nearly died as a shiny black car zoomed around the corner, passing so closely behind him, his clothing rippled in its wake. Five seconds later a Porsche – Jackson’s? – screeched past, also headed toward the park. Naturally, because all things awful come in triplicate, a third car rattled behind. And, yeah. That was definitely Stiles and Scott in the blue monstrosity.

Beacon Hills, man. What the hell.

**Author's Note:**

> I figure Greenberg's pretty much invisible to everyone except Danny and Finstock; one's really nice and the other has a hate-on for him.
> 
> The "fairy hedgehog" is an arkan sonney. Chosen because it's under the "A"s in Wikipedia's list of supernatural creatures, and because I couldn't resist using something described as a fairy hedgehog.


End file.
